


Fixing Dixon

by Higgystar



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Higgystar/pseuds/Higgystar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt from the kink meme. Prompt was any situation Darylwhump! Set between season 2/3 when the group are on the road. Daryl goes on a supply run by himself and manages to get some quite severe injuries in an accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fixing Dixon

In hindsight it had been a stupid idea to go on a supply run by himself, but everyone was so tired nowadays with winter setting in and he’d just wanted to get the task over and done with as quickly as possible. With the whole group knowing about it and daylight getting shorter each day, he hadn’t had time for a debate with everyone. Instead Daryl had left at dawn, given an excuse about going hunting before slinking off through the woods to the run down hamlet they’d seen the day before. The only reason they hadn’t stopped and checked it out before was because of the amount of walkers nearby and that with Lori suffering from severe aches and pains through her pregnancy they were all distracted.

He’d figured that going by himself would make things easier, he was by far the quietest one in their group and if he did get cornered he figured he’d be able to have a chance at surviving more than most of the others. Getting in had been easy, creating a distraction with a few thrown rocks and the idiot walkers had moved to give him a clear path in through a window. Once inside it was secure enough for him to search without much worry, grabbing any canned goods, medical stuff, weapons, ammo and some clothing they might need. It was a good enough haul really, plenty enough for the trip to be worth it.

The buildings weren’t exactly in the best condition as he moved between them all, windows were cracked, rot had set into some of the overhead beams and there was a smell of damp that even walker stench couldn’t cover. Moving through the upstairs of the last building he grabs some clean towels from the bathroom for them to use as makeshift pillows, blankets or whatever and secures them to his backpack. Honestly this had been a pretty good idea, the smallest thing could make a difference nowadays and though he knew Rick would give him that disappointed look when he got back, he knew their appointed leader would appreciate it all anyway.

Heading down the stairs he freezes when he hears a noise come from around him, a heavy droning noise flaking through the walls almost. He’d cleared the place of walkers already and there hadn’t been any survivors in here either. Readying his bow he takes another step down, hearing the creaking increase and ensuring the rucksack was secure if he needed to run. When all he hears is silence in response, Daryl figures whatever it is can’t get to him right now and continues heading down the stairs.

A tearing sound shreds around his ears, loud and heavy as the ground beneath his feet crumbles into a mass of splinters. He doesn’t even have time to yell he’s so caught off guard, blinking up at the damp covered ceiling before he crashes down the floor of the basement below and everything goes blank.

Everything hurts. That’s all his mind is able to register when he finally comes to. Daryl doesn’t bother opening his eyes, instead waiting it out until he felt like he wasn’t going to throw up over himself before squinting in the dim light to figure out what happened. He’s down, covered in dust and wood, some kind of beam next to him and a lot of questions in his mind. This isn’t right he shouldn’t be here.

Blinking makes everything a little less blurry and when he takes a deep breath, even though it hurts his side, he feels a little more stable. Above him is a hole, shredded wood of the stairway hanging loose and mould covering every part that’s still intact. Fucking floor had fallen through. Fuck.

How long had he been out? Were the others looking for him? Was it dark yet? He had to get out of here and get back to the group, if they started worrying then they’d do something stupid like come looking for him and risk everyone else. It takes a lot of effort, but after some painful attempts and a bit of muttered swearing, he’s able to roll onto his side a little to get a better feel of his surroundings and injuries.

Reaching up he can feel the sticky mass of blood on his head, coating his hairline and causing the throbbing behind his eyes. It hurts like a bitch having to touch it all, but there’s nothing in it, just a split he supposes. Okay good, that could be fixed, nothing a band-aid couldn’t help. He’s relieved to be able to feel all of his limbs and wriggle all his toes and fingers, even if he’s certain two on his left hand are broken. Broken fingers were nothing life threatening, things were looking reasonably good.

Moving his hands over his body to locate where the most pain was turned out to be easier than moving his head to try and see in the dark. Besides his head was thumping so loud he couldn’t be trusted not to pass out again if he moved it too much. Running the pads of his fingers over Hershel’s stitches he lets out a whimper of distress when they come back wet and red. Fuck. He’d been healing so well, Hershel had given him another couple of weeks just to be safe before he would take them out and now he’d gone and fucked it all up again. No wonder his body was aching, it was probably pissed that the same wound was nagging to be tended to once more.

Heaving himself over, he tries to get to his knees using his arm as leverage and finds himself crumpling forward with a gasp as fire runs through his shoulder. It didn’t feel dislocated, Merle had made sure he knew what that felt like, but it still hurt like a bitch. Reaching a shaking hand up he tries to turn to see what’s wrong and nearly gags when he finds a shard of wood hovering in his peripheral vision. It’s stuck in his back, dug into his shoulder tightly and jammed in so much he swear he can feel it tickling his collarbone every time he twitches a muscle in that arm. Shit, now he wishes it had been dislocated.

Gritting his teeth he takes a deep breath in through his nose and works himself to get to his feet, or at least to his knees so he could crawl off of the debris. He wasn’t a pussy, no matter what Merle fucking said, and he was not going to lie here like a damsel in distress and wait for someone to come fix his boo boo. Hadn’t needed anyone before and he damn well didn’t need anyone now. Daryl knows he can’t yell, can’t lure the walkers in anymore than they’re going to be with the scent of fresh blood, but he lets out a silent scream of pain when he finally pushes himself to his feet.

He finds the wall quickly, panting and leaning against it with his good side, almost clutching at it for balance as his vision tilts a little sideways. There was no time for this, but right now everything feels on fire and digging into him with vengeance. Digging his good fingers into the wall he takes a second to just breath, closing his eyes and repeating to himself that he weren’t no pussy and weren’t going to let Merle come back inside his head and tell him so. He ain’t got time for his big brother to annoy him right now, he had to get out and get back before he collapsed from blood loss or something stupid.

“Come on. You was always boasting to Merle about how tough you were, don’t quit now.” It’s ridiculous; he’s a full-grown man giving himself a pep talk to get his lazy ass to walk to the basement stairs. But however stupid it may feel, it gives him the strength to clutch at his bleeding side and stagger a few steps in the right direction. If he hadn’t had to pause a moment to throw up, he might have given a small cheer of victory.

The stairs are close and thankfully made of metal; no damp rot could possibly have broken them down. On his back the rucksack digs in, the strap on his good arm holding it to his body to try and give a reprieve to his injured shoulder. The worst part of all of this was not being able to yank out the stake of wood, to get that out of his body and away from him. His good arm couldn’t reach though and from this angle he wouldn’t be able to add any pressure if it started bleeding out hard.

It’s slow progress getting to the stairs, but each step feels like success and each time he thinks he’s going to throw up again he pauses to look at how far he’s come. Some mouldy staircase was not going to kill Daryl Dixon; he had far too much pride to go out in a fucking accident. He’d be a fucking laughingstock in the afterlife if that was how he went out after the end of the world. Leaning on the safety rail he catches his breath, wondering just how hard it’s going to be to get all the way up the stairs, let alone back to the group before nightfall.

Taking his knife he’s careful with his movements, using his sense of touch to cut free the now useless left strap of the rucksack and not injure himself any further. It’s hard work and he has to breathe deeply to just get the thing in position around his midsection before using the buckles to tighten it in place. It digs in like a bitch, but at least now he had one injury with pressure on and another where the wood was plugging the bleeding. Sure he was still dizzy and feeling pretty sick to his stomach, but taking that first step up the metal staircase felt miles easier than the others had before.

He knew he could do this. Fuck it wasn’t as if he had to climb up a fucking ravine again, stairs were a godsend compared to that and besides it was only a few burst stitches in his side. There was no way he was going to pussy out now, not when he was finally starting to find himself feeling actually kind of comfortable around the others a little. Reaching the door, he’s relieved to find it unlocked, right now battering down a door was not feasible for him at all. The house is quiet like before, still and silent with no more sounds of creaking around him thankfully.

There are still walkers in the surrounding area, milling about aimlessly and gnashing their jaws together for flesh. Even in this state he knew he would have to outrun them, keep himself moving until he got to the relative safety of the woods and could head back to their makeshift camp and the others. It’ll be tough, but he was determined and though his crossbow may be out of the question and possibly a little damaged after his fall, he’s still got his knife and one good arm.

Bracing himself he spits out the residue taste of vomit to the floor and grips his knife hard. It was now or never.

The sound of tyres on tarmac and an engine cause him to pause in leaving, glancing about for the source and hoping it wasn’t a potential threat right now. There’s more than one car, and they were drawing closer to his location, most likely coming down the one road that led in and out of the lonely row of houses.

When the familiar vehicles roll into view he’s nothing but grateful, relief flowing through him at the knowledge that safety wasn’t so far out of reach. He can already see Rick half hanging out the window, gun at the ready and looking about frantically. Groaning a little Daryl grips the rucksack tighter swings open the door and tries his best to get to the cars as quickly as possible with walkers swarming about the place.

He has to stab a couple, push a few back and he can hear a couple of shots ring out from both Rick’s gun and someone else’s. One of the cars is circling back, luring the walkers to them with yells and shouts whilst Rick’s lead car drives over to him. Shoving back a walker with half an arm from getting in his face, he practically dives in to the open back door, sprawling on the backseat and gritting his teeth against the pain as the car quickly moves to get them out of danger. Bracing himself against the seats he moves to get off of Rick’s lap where he’d thrown himself, and finds hands pinning him in place on his stomach, hushing him and holding him steady.

“I got you, just stay still, move too much you could make it worse.”

“Oh God, is he bit?”

“Don’t know, just get us back to camp so we can check him over.”

“Has he been stabbed? Is that a stake?”

“Just drive!”

The noise is all too much and Daryl has to bury his face in the car seat to stop himself from heaving, the noise making his throbbing head pound all the more. He feels unsteady, on edge being so vulnerable like this and though he knows Rick means well by holding him still, having someone’s hands over him is enough to make him flinch. Shrinking back a little he moves his good hand to add more pressure to his side, grunting in pain but thankful when Rick’s hand gets there first, holding him steady as the jeep goes off the road and heads towards their hidden camp for the night.

He feels like a fool, not only had he managed to practically disable himself for a while, he’s dragged everyone else into it too. Breathing heavily as a particularly harsh bump jerks his body the wrong way, he tries to bury himself further into the seat, wanting to just hide away and ignore all this shit he’d created. “Got some supplies.” He manages to choke out, feeling Rick’s fingers tighten their hold on his side, pinching the sensitive flesh and making him yelp like a struck dog.

Daryl’s whole life had been soaked in tense environments, knowing when to sense the tension and get out of the way had become second nature to him, but right now he was practically pinned by the man he’d pissed off. Bracing himself for a fight he wonders if Rick would just shove him out the car and have done with it. “It wasn’t worth this.” Comes a quiet reply, Rick’s free hand being placed gently between his shoulder blades, far enough away to not jostle the wound.

Well he wasn’t used to that. Grunting a little noncommittally in reply he keeps himself quiet and his eyes closed for the rest of the trip, hoping Hershel wouldn’t be too pissed about the popped stitches he had to fix again. The crunch of twigs beneath the wheels is strangely soothing, but just as Daryl thinks he might manage to get a few moments rest Rick is tugging at his hair in an annoying manner, making him groan.

“Don’t go to sleep. Not until we’ve patched you up and Hershel has checked your head over.” Rick’s voice is oddly calm, quiet and sort of soothing. It reminds him of when he’d been a lot smaller, when his mom and later Merle, had looked after him through illness. He figured maybe it was the kind of voice Rick would use on Carl in this sort of situation. The thought makes him huff a little, opening his eyes to watch what daylight filters in through the window cross in lines through the trees and turn the seats tints of green for a second before flashing away.

When they pull up back at the camp he focuses back on the here and now, wondering exactly how they were going to manage this with him half across Rick’s lap. T-Dog and Glenn have already gotten out, moving to open the back doors and assist how they could. Honestly Daryl has never felt more ridiculous than he did right now, too in pain to even think of moving himself and lying in the back of a car reluctant to leave.

“Get Hershel out here, he can assess as best as he can and see what’s best to do. Keep Lori, Carl and Beth inside, start preparing dinner if they can. Carol, Maggie and Glenn can set up the perimeters, double check all doors and windows are blocked for the night. T-Dog you stay with me in case we need to move him”

“Can move myself.” He mumbles, trying to shift to make a point and hissing in pain when Rick’s fingers keep him in place with a little too much force. “Ain’t no pussy.”

Rick pats between his shoulder blades again in a patronising manner and if Daryl had the strength he would kick the other man for that alone. The others scatter, doing as they were told and completing the tasks set for them, leaving the three of them waiting for Hershel to appear.

“What did you do to yourself man?” T-Dog asks, shaking his head and moving closer to look at the shoulder injury. Daryl’s not too keen on having so many people in his space on a good day, but when in pain and vulnerable he hated it even more.

Swatting his good hand at T-Dog he hisses as he moves a little too much, his head pounding in reply and making him still instantly. “Had a fuckin’ party.” He groans, wondering why everyone always wanted to know what happened first. “Didn’t get bit.” Most likely that’s all he wanted to know, make sure they were all safe and they didn’t have to put him down like a mangy dog.

“Good to know, but what the hell were you doing out there by yourself? We always go out in pairs for a reason, shit like this is one of those reasons. What if we hadn’t found you?” T-Dog’s voice is harsh, sharper than usual, but Daryl figures he’s just pissed they had to all risk themselves for the redneck idiot that couldn’t follow the rules.

If he could he’d shrug right now, but as it was he just let his head loll to the side so he didn’t have to see that look on the other man’s face.

“Well we did.” Rick assures them all, the hand between his shoulder blades now patting in a steady rhythm, giving Daryl something to focus on that wasn’t pain or a headache. “So it doesn’t matter.”

Mumbling in agreement he blinks his eyes open at the sound of someone else approaching and finds Hershel giving him that look again. The one that made him feel about two inches tall and like a stupid kid. “Looks like you got yourself into quite a state son.” The vet’s voice has that steady pace to it and though Daryl doesn’t like being called son, coming from Hershel it’s not quite so bad.

“We didn’t want to move him in case we made anything worse.” Rick explains, sounding far more worried than Daryl thought he should.

Nodding a little Hershel steps closer, pushing the door open as wide as it would go so he could inspect as much of Daryl as he could reach. “How you feeling son?”

“Just fucking peachy.”

“Daryl.”

“Sick.” He murmurs, wondering exactly how him saying anything was going to help when Hershel could see the problems clearly. “Head hurts.” Daryl admits, moving his arm to point to his temple, showing exactly where it hurt. “Fucked my stitches again. Sorry doc.”

“I must admit that’s impressive. I’ve had cats that left their stitches in longer than you have Daryl.” He hisses as Hershel’s gentle fingers move to probe his shoulder, pressing at the skin around the entry wound and making pain flare through him. Automatically his leg kicks out to let out the frustration and kick at the car door, giving him some element of release from it all. “They were better behaved patients too.” Hershel muses more to himself than any of them.

Daryl let out a huff of annoyance as Hershel continued poking and prodding him, feeling annoyed about getting himself into a situation where everyone had to be so close to him. He’d never liked being dependant on anyone and being the patient for the second time in so short a time was not exactly fair. Figures, he’d gone through life without needing too much medical attention, now it was all screwed he needed more of it than ever.

“Best thing is if we move him inside, get him laid down and comfortable before removing the wood. We’ll need to stop the bleeding and get it fixed as soon as we can and make sure to get ever splinter out in case of infection. The head wound needs a few stitches but it’s pretty minor, you’ll just have a headache for a few days. As for his previous stitches, we’ll just have to hope it’s third time lucky.”

“’M right here.” Daryl complains, hating being spoken over and feeling pathetic that everyone’s making his choices for him. “And I can walk just fine myself.” As if to prove a point he hitches himself up onto his elbows, ignoring the throbbing in his head and pushing himself back to slide his feet down out the door to the ground outside. Rick’s hands are on his back again, not keeping him pinned, but there as he slowly managed to get his feet beneath himself. Resting for a second, Daryl catches his breath, with his back end out the car it meant he now had his front half sprawled over Rick and wasn’t overly sure of the logistics of getting fully out and up.

Fortunately Rick seems to be able to read his mind and before he can lower himself to ask for assistance, Rick’s arm is beneath him, giving enough support under his chest and a steadying hand to get him upright. It pulls like a bitch on his side and his head feels heavy, but holding onto the frame of the car he manages to get himself stabilised. When Rick gets out of the car he’s instantly beside him, and Daryl is grateful he doesn’t say a word when he leans on him for support whilst walking.

Hershel leads the way inside; looking disapproving at it all but resigned to the fact that Daryl Dixon was not going to be carried over the threshold like some princess. After a stumble T-Dog goes to grab his other side, but Daryl lets out a noise of rebuttal, steadying himself again before taking a deliberate step forward to make his point. “Keep watch T-Dog, Glenn can switch in an hour.” Rick somehow manages to apologise for him somewhere between the lines, half supporting and half dragging him inside their worn down house for camp tonight.

Keeping his head low and eyes half closed, Daryl ignores the gasps that come from Lori and Carl, he must look a complete state, but he figures they’ve seen worse. They lay him on their makeshift bed, couch cushions thrown down on the floor for padding and various blankets and pillows scattered around. He protests a little, not wanting to take the majority of the bedding away from the others, Hershel was old, Carl and Beth were young and Lori was pregnant for crying out loud, they had a greater need than him.

Rick isn’t having any of it though, and once he’s settled that firm hand between his shoulder blades is there again, holding him down and keeping him calm. Beth flits about quickly, grabbing the towels from his supply run and handing them to her father to help stem the bleeding, hunting out their first aid supplies and threading a needle ready for him. She’s a quick little thing, and though Daryl has been seeing her as a little girl, she’s starting to show that she’s tough enough for this world.

“Might as well get the stake out first. No reason to restitch the old wound if you’re going to rip them again when we take this out.” Daryl can hear just how much this is going to hurt from the way Hershel speaks, and how he’s got Rick there for strong hands to keep him pinned. He figures he’s had worse, and he could get through this just as easily as he’d gotten through everything else in his life. “Need you to try and stay still son, we don’t want to cause anymore damage if we can help it. Try to relax, it’ll make it easier.”

He snorts a little at that, trying to relax was impossible with walkers roaming about everywhere and even harder when injured. Still he pillows his head on his good arm, lets the painful one lay as comfortably as possible next to him and tries to think of anything else but the pain. When soft fingers start to comb through his hair he flinches a little, peeking out of his hiding place to find Carol smiling down at him, caring as always and giving him all the sympathy he didn’t deserve.

“On three.” Hershel advises, moving to take a firm grasp of the wood sticking out from his shoulder. The added pressure and slight movement makes him jerk a little, feeling his raw nerves bark at him to get away from the source of pain. Rick’s hands dig in a little harder, pinning him down in a way that’s rather daunting and adding more pressure so he can’t struggle away from this. The panic and realisation of how much this is going to hurt begins to set in, but before he can tense up and protest Hershel’s voice is starting the countdown. “One.”

Blinding pain shoots down his arm, from between his shoulders to the tips of his fingers and he’s not sure if he wants to curl up and hide or just lie there on the floor sprawled out. He gasps for air, feeling bile rise in his throat and his head ache and throb in panic. Hershel had gone on one, he’d already pulled it out and now he could almost feel the gaping hole in his shoulder as fingers shoved towel and wadding inside to stop the bleeding. It burns and he knows he’s yelling but he really can’t hear anything but his heartbeat in his ears, pounding and thumping too fast to count and making everything dizzy. There are fingers in his hair, fingers around his own, fingers in his shoulder and pain everywhere. Around him voices are trying to talk to him, but he can’t see and they don’t make any sense, so he ignores them, instead closing his eyes and opting to fall into pain free darkness.

The ground is moving beneath him when he blinks his eyes open the next time. The world is dark, his head feels fuzzy and his body isn’t moving like it should. His arm feels trapped against his chest, his side aches something awful and his head might just have a crack right down the middle. Moaning at the confusing situation he finds someone hushing him, soft whispers in his ear, calming and helping him to not struggle quite so much. Letting his head flop back down onto what he realises is someone’s shoulder, he can feel rather than see others moving around him at a hurried pace, frantic and busy. “Merle?” He wonders aloud, lost in a sea of questions and memories blurring into one.

“I got you.” Says Rick’s soothing voice, quiet but firm with an edge of certainty. “Get some rest, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He sounds so sure, so confident in his abilities and Daryl’s head feels so heavy that he does as he’s told. Allowing the motion of the ground moving and the gentle breathing of Rick to take him back to sleep.

The sound of tyres rolling over tarmac wakes him the next time. Stirring a little he shifts to try and get his bearings, finding himself cushioned on all side and a hand reaching out to press against his forehead. Murmuring lightly he opens his eyes and finds Rick watching him whilst sitting beside him. They’re in the back of the closed truck, their supplies, blankets and everything tucked around the two of them and pressed against the sides. It’s a tight fit for two grown men, but Daryl figures it’s the best they could have done if there was a reason for them to move on.

“We good?” He asks, coughing a little at his dry throat and greedily gulping down the water from the bottle Rick holds out for him. When it’s taken away he catches his breath, finding that world isn’t as hazy as it had been before. The headache seems to have receded to a dull ache and nothing more, making it much easier to handle.

“Yeah, everyone’s good. We’re just moving again.” Rick answers, keeping himself busy by checking on his bandages for any new blood spotting. Everything comes back clear but Rick still pushes him back down when he tries to sit up. “Don’t, just rest for a while.” Daryl hates resting, they don’t have time for this shit anymore, but Rick is insistent. “We need you to get better and I think Hershel might just tie you down if you pop any more stitches. You feeling better?”

“Much.” He decides not to risk trying to nod, instead just peering down to find his arm strapped to his chest with various belts and slings made into a make shift contraption. “No infection?”

“Nothing. Hershel’s still keeping an eye on you, you need to go careful with your arm for a while, but in time if you build the muscles back up slowly you should be fine.” It’s a relief to hear and Daryl gives a small sigh of happiness at hearing that, letting his head flop back to the backpack it was resting on.

“Hey Daryl.” Carl’s head pops over the back of the seat to hang above him upside down, the kid grinning despite the situation as his hair hangs over his face. “Since you can’t use it for a while, can I have your crossbow?”

“Carl.” Rick groans from beside him and Daryl reaches up his good arm to flick at the kids nose in answer.

Carl squeaks and rubs at the sore spot, huffing like only a teenage boy can and complaining that the world was unfair. “Just to look after it.” The kid grumbles, slumping in his seat a little but not turning back around. “I won’t lose any arrows and I won’t break it. I even brought it with us when we had to move because of the walkers, dad would have left it behind.”

Glancing down to rick Daryl can see how indignant he looks at that comment but gives a small laugh before the man can start an argument with his son. “Fine, but it’s just on loan and I want one of those candy bars you think I don’t know you have.”

“Deal.” Carl is quick to agree, offering a hand over the seat to make it official. It’s upside down and with the wrong hand, but Daryl figures the half-hearted handshake he gives is good enough. When the kid disappears from view he settles back down, folding his good arm behind his head and watching the world go by past the window.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Rick has a grin on his face as he sits beside him, glancing up to look fondly at the back of his son’s head. “You’ll be lucky to get it back at all if he likes it.”

Shrugging is still out of the question so instead he wriggles his fingers in gesture, wincing when the broken ones twinge a little. “Kid’ll barely be able to carry it. He’ll be sick of it in a week.” He huffs, stretching out his legs as best as possible against the door of the trunk and stifling a yawn. Hopefully he wouldn’t be out of commission for too long, he didn’t want to be a burden to the rest of them if he could help it. Besides with winter setting in they’d need all hands on deck to search for food and shelter.

“You’d better hope so, otherwise you’re going to have a tug of war on your hands. He’s stubborn.”

“Wonder where he gets that from.”

One of the towels he’d grabbed from his supply run was tossed over his face, landing there with a soft hit from where Rick had thrown it. Dragging it off Daryl frowns up at Rick, trying not to chuckle at the look on his face. “Hey! No bullying the one armed injured man. No sport in that, even if I would beat you easily.”

“No way, my dad could kick your ass any day.”

“Carl, language!”

“Are you kidding? I’d beat your dad even with one arm.”

“Doubt it, I’m trained to subdue anyone I need to.”

“I grew up with Merle as a brother, I can take on anyone.”

“Boys! No fighting or I will turn this car around.” Calls Carol from the front seat, T-Dog beside her laughing at their squabbling and he drives them somewhere hopefully free of walkers. “Carl stop baiting them, Rick stop threatening the injured, and Daryl you’re supposed to be resting, not planning to get yourself more injuries.”

Carl mutters something and slumps in his seat, sulking with his arms folded and glaring out the window. Rick does have the decency to look a little shamed of himself for his behaviour, whereas Daryl simply raises his middle finger high enough for Carol to see it above the seats. In a second Rick smacks his hand down, as if they’re naughty kids at the back of the school bus taunting the teacher. It’s pathetic and different, but the little things make this whole situation more bearable.

His side still itches with tight skin and new stitches, his shoulder is pretty much useless for the moment whilst he’s all strapped up and his head still has a lingering headache that thumps every so often. But he’s had worse. As far as recovering goes it’s going to be a long road, he has no doubt he’ll be restless and bored within a week, and having to do something stupid to save them all a week after that. Still he knows he could cope.

Closing his eyes he lets the rocking of the car beneath him become a constant soothing noise, a motion that is relaxing in its own way as they head to safer places. Rick’s hand nudges his shoulder to catch his attention and he blinks up to him, humming in question at the disturbance.

“I’ll hold you to that threat when you’re better.” Rick whispers to him, keeping it down so Carol wouldn’t be able to reprimand them again. It a ridiculous thought, that something like taking down Rick would be his inspiration for trying to get better sooner. “Going to take you down Dixon.”

“In your dreams Grimes.” Daryl murmurs back, letting his eyes close as he tries to get some much needed rest. He figured at least if he were injured, the company wouldn’t be too bad this time around.


End file.
